


A Weekend Project

by narrativeimperative



Series: The Client [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Destiel - Freeform, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, I know we're all hankering for lawyer aus, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, lawyer AU, unrealistic marathon sex, unrealistic refractory period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrativeimperative/pseuds/narrativeimperative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a lawyer for an important firm. He’s also, to his chagrin, an omega. With the help of heat suppressants and some serious denial, it’s not a problem ... until he meets Dean Winchester. And then it’s very definitely a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Innocent Until Proven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144052) by [choirofangels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirofangels/pseuds/choirofangels). 



> Tags are for the whole story, not individual chapters. (Which is code for the porn isn't coming until Chapter 2).
> 
> UPDATE: This fic comes with belated apologies and credit to choirofangels, whose Daddy's Cop series was the inspiration for this fic.

Castiel Novak worked eleven-hour days and usually came in on the weekends. He was one of the best solicitors in the entire firm, and the size of his salary proved it. General knowledge said that weres didn’t do well in highly structured environments – they tended to excel in alternative career tracks, vocations with more flexibility – and combined with the fact that he was an omega ... well.

He’d had to pull every string he could think of to get in at Smith and Sons, but once he’d dropped his first 100K account in Raphael’s lap, the sly looks had stopped and the corner office on the twenty-sixth floor was his.

The work was hard, but he loved it. What was harder was being the only omega in the building whose dress code included a tie. To be the only omega in the firm meant that despite his reputation as the best solicitor on Raphael’s team, he was forever putting up with jokes from Zachariah (they were quiet, though, because Castiel’s accounts drew in twice what Zachariah’s did), and getting legwork shoved at him like he was an intern (he shoved it right back), and dealing with clients who were shocked to see an omega handling their contracts.

“How can someone who goes down on command fight for my company’s interests?” his first client had asked him, point-blank. She’d been a CEO, a beta – he could tell by her bearing and her vibrant smell – but Castiel had persuaded her, and twelve months later, her company was their most lucrative account.

So yes, Castiel was good at what he did. He liked his work, he liked his money, and above all else, he liked the feeling – for once in his life – of being in control.

Which is why he was dismayed to realize at 3:25 on Friday afternoon that for the first time in four years, his body was going into heat. 

“Oh no ...” he muttered, running a hand over his forehead. He was sweating – he hadn’t noticed it until this moment. Too late, he realized that his office felt uncomfortably warm. That should have been a warning sign.

Trying to convince himself that it was too early to panic, he opened his private calendar. He’d just upgraded to more powerful hormones – maybe he’d taken the wrong dosage? Had he mistimed his injections? Nope, there it was in his calendar, clearly outlined in red.

The hot, prickly nausea he’d felt this morning hadn’t been illness: it was the beginning of his cycle. Damn it.

It was 3:26, his meeting was at 3:30, and he was about to hit his heat.

He leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair and forcing a few deep breaths. He felt like crying. It wasn’t fair. He’d been diligent – he was always diligent. He tracked his cycles rigourously and was never late with his shots. He never even masturbated any more – it just made things worse.

He’d made the decision while in law school to move to full-on suppressants when the dampeners and over-the-counter pills weren’t enough, and he’d accepted all the health risks that came with them. He’d embraced the headaches and the joint pain and the insomnia. He’d worked through them cheerfully, because they meant he didn’t wake up leaking and desperate any more. They meant he was his own person, not dependent on an alpha – or anyone – for protection or financial security or basic human happiness. His brainspace was his own, thank you very much.

Except now it wasn’t, because after four heat-free years his mating impulse was looking for revenge, apparently.

He took a deep, shaky breath.

Well.

No point in railing against the injustice of it all: he was in heat. That was alright, he could take the afternoon off. It was Friday, after all, and he never took days off, and – 

“Novak!” Uriel’s voice barked over the intercom. “Where are you? Your client’s already in the boardroom.”

Castiel usually didn’t swear, but he allowed himself that luxury now.

Couldn’t he just ... no. No. He’d worked hard for this one. He’d prepared the entire Sandover contract himself. If he could land it, it would be their most lucrative account of the year, and he wasn’t about to let Uriel – or God forbid, Zachariah – swoop in and snatch it out from under him.

Nobody was going to gossip behind his back and snicker about how he couldn’t cut it, he wasn’t Smith material and this is why we don’t hire omegas, maybe he should slow down a little, give up some of his clients. He’d be damned first.

Besides, he had some time before his cycle really ramped up. There were all the tell-tale signs, but right now it was still manageable, even if he’d already sweated through his shirt.

He could do this.

“I know, I’m coming,” he snapped over the intercom. Uriel gave him an impatient grunt and hung up.

Castiel gathered his files, popped two Tylenol and a dampener, even though it was too late to do anything, and cautiously adjusted his pants. He wasn’t wearing preventative garments; he’d just have to cross his fingers and hope he didn't leak through.

He could do it. But just to be sure, he texted maintenance and asked them to turn down the heat in the boardroom on the twenty-sixth floor.

By the time he was outside the doors, he was feeling almost confident. His hackles were up – grappling with his omega impulses always made him snappy and defensive, which was no way to start a meeting – but the overpowering submissive thirst hadn’t hit yet. And maybe it wouldn’t – not all cycles were the same, after all, and he was older now. Maybe his heats had calmed down a bit.

He could almost pretend that these were run-of-the-mill client nerves, and client nerves were good – they kept him on his game.

He straightened his tie, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and opened the door.

 

It happened immediately – the scent was inside his brain before he knew what hit him. He almost dropped his files.

It was heavy and metallic and spicy, like lightning during winter storms, like blood on snow, and it hit him in the chest like a freight train. His palm froze on the handle as he stood stock-still in the doorway, paralyzed by the _yespleasegodfuckmenow_ that overwhelmed him in the presence of the alpha.

Because there was an alpha in the boardroom.

And not just any alpha – a perfect alpha, _his_ alpha, the most gorgeous alpha he’d ever seen.

He was standing in front of the window, a little aloof from the tag-team of Uriel and Zachariah, who were making the requisite chit-chat. The late afternoon sun picked out the hollows of his neck and the heavy, lean lines of muscle on his forearms.

He was dressed casually amidst the suits, because when your company was worth more than Castiel would earn in his lifetime, you wore what you liked.

Dean Winchester. He knew it in a heartbeat. Nobody had told him he was an alpha, but then, Castiel usually checked this kind of thing. Why hadn’t he checked? Oh, God.

He was perfect.

Castiel, immobilized by the terrible, awful, humbling things that Dean’s scent was doing to his rapidly spiking hormones, prayed for a second’s respite to pull himself together.

And then, clearly sensing that something in the room had changed, the alpha raised his head. He looked directly at Castiel, and _knew_. He knew because alphas always know. His nostrils dilated, the relaxed line of his shoulders froze, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. A were’s sense of smell was ten times better than any human’s, and the pheromones that Castiel’s traitorous body was pumping out weren’t subtle.

Dean was looking straight into him. While Raphael and Uriel were chatting, every inch of Dean’s attention was focused on Castiel, and Castiel thought he might collapse from the weight of it. The corner of Dean’s mouth lifted in an undeniably wolfish quirk.

“What’s the hold-up?” asked a voice behind him, and Castiel jumped, breaking eye contact with Dean. He was blocking the door, and Raphael was standing in the hall, impatient.

Castiel tried to speak, but his mouth had gone dry. “Nothing,” he managed, on his second try.

“Good.” Raphael closed the door behind them and pushed forward into the room, Castiel following in his wake.

_This can’t be happening._

Zachariah and Uriel stepped aside deferentially for their boss.

“Mr. Winchester,” said Raphael, moving in close and pulling Castiel with him. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Castiel’s head was spinning. He was certain they were too close: he could feel the other were’s heat from where he stood. Dean seemed to loom in his vision.

Somewhere beyond the rush of blood in his ears, he heard Raphael’s voice. “And this is the chief architect of your account, Castiel Novak.”

His omega-in-heat instincts told him to keep his eyes down – God, he’d forgotten how hard it was to resist this – but he forced his chin up to meet Dean’s gaze.

“Mr. Novak,” Dean said with a nod and a smile. Oh, Lord, his voice was like honey and wood shavings. Dean reached out to shake Castiel’s hand, and Castiel froze; he knew he wasn’t capable of touching the alpha, not when he was like this.

Dean recognized it instantly.

And Dean took pity on him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dean shifted his abortive reach for Castiel into a handshake with Raphael.

“Good to see you, Raphael. This is quite the welcoming committee.”

Castiel breathed deep, trying not to let his shaking hands show.

Castiel sometimes thought that being an omega was an asset in his profession. Certainly, his caustic defensiveness – never far from the surface these days – helped him out in hard negotiations. No regular human could outgun an omega with a chip on their shoulder. Sometimes he even thought that omegas might make better professionals than alphas and betas, period.

This was not one of those times.

He clamped down a whimper as he realized how wet he was, how desperately he wanted to fall to his knees and bury himself in his client’s crotch. The sweat from his hands was staining his folders.

He forced himself to dial back into the chatter.

“Your account is extremely important to us, Mr. Winchester,” Uriel was saying. “We want you to know that all of our resources are at your disposal.”

“That’s really decent of you, but I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” Dean looked at his watch, a tad theatrically. “I’m on the clock, myself. All I really want is a run-down of your offer. Castiel here can take me through the finer points, can’t he?”

_Oh no._

Castiel chanced a glance at his boss. Raphael looked a bit surprised, but his answer was smooth. "Of course, Mr. Winchester. We understand.”

"Thanks, Raphael,” Dean said, in a tone of voice that would have had Castiel on his knees if it had been aimed at him. As it was, Raphael clearly understood that he was being dismissed.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester – we’ll leave Castiel to acquaint you with the contract.” Raphael turned, and for the first time he seemed to notice that the younger lawyer wasn’t all there. Castiel’s cheeks and neck were undeniably flushed, his shoulders were jacked inward, and he was staring at a point on the wall past Dean’s shoulder.

But Raphael didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to ask if Castiel was okay, because Castiel _would_ be okay, or else. Raphael fired him a warning glance, then filed out with the rest of his team.

The door closed behind them.

And then, achingly, they were alone. 

Just the two of them, with the sunshine streaming in hot through the window and Dean outlined in a golden halo of afternoon light and Castiel wondered if maybe it wouldn’t be better just to die right then and there because the most important client of his entire career now had front row-seats to him wriggling in heat like a 15-year-old.

Castiel forced himself to speak first. “Would you like to have a seat?”

“Sure, thanks,” Dean said, sliding himself into a chair with casual grace. God, he was big – his shoulders cast a shadow across the room when he moved. He leaned back with that relaxed alpha confidence, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

Castiel took refuge on the other side of the table.

“So _you’re_ my lawyer?” Dean asked, grinning.

Just like that, Castiel’s hackles were up. Seething against every traitorous impulse of his hormone-soaked brain, Castiel took refuge in defensiveness, and met the alpha’s eyes.

“Yes,” he snapped. “Lucky for you, actually, because I’m the best Smith has to offer. If you don’t like it, you’re free to go somewhere else.” On stupid, terrible impulse, he curled his lip up to reveal his teeth.

Omegas did not show their teeth to other weres.

They did not show their teeth to other weres, and they _never_ bared their teeth to alphas.

He regretted it immediately. He broke eye contact and stared down at the table, mortified.

But Dean wasn’t angry. “I know you are,” he said simply. “It’s why I wanted you.”

Castiel chanced a look at him. He seemed a little taken aback, but his face was open and ... sunny, even. After years of having to fight tooth and nail against aggressive and bigoted alphas, Castiel had misread it; he’d misjudged. Dean hadn’t been mocking him. 

One beat passed, then two.

“I ... apologize,” said Castiel tightly, trying to keep a lock on it.

No need,” said Dean. The _I know you’re out of your brain for me right now and are probably not in top form_ went unsaid. “It’s just unexpected.” 

That was true – omegas, if they worked outside of the home at all, were nurses and teachers and counsellors. They formed the hearts of communities, homes, families. Castiel had always known he wanted something other than that, but right now he thought how nice it could be if – 

No.

Fighting against the heat that was roiling in his chest, and the sweat beading down his face in the cold room, and the _yespleaserightnow_ of Dean’s scent in his brain, Castiel got down to brass tacks.

“I’m glad you came to us. This account means a lot to me, and I’m going to do everything I can to convince you that you’re making the right choice.”

Dean graciously avoided the innuendo. “Yeah, well, we were told we’d need your advice if we were going to get this project off the ground. We tried and failed to get it moving last year. There are a couple problems that the other guys just couldn’t – ”

“I’ve already sketched out a few options we could follow.” Castiel opened the files and handed Dean a sheaf of itemized pages.

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Dude, it’s all written in legalese!”

The man was adorable. Castiel’s heart squelched – he ignored it. “It’s fairly straightforward,” he said, managing dryness.

“Yeah?” Dean’s eyebrow cocked. “Wanna walk me through it?”

Dean angled his chair like he expected Castiel to sit beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder.

“We need to talk about your revenue streams,” Castiel began, maintaining his stiff posture on the other side of the table. There was no need for him to look at the paperwork – he had it memorized. “I’ll take you through it point by point. Stop me if you get lost.”

Castiel wasn’t sure how he made it through the meeting, except that he knew the Sandover account backwards and forwards, and it gave him a life raft to cling to. Castiel was either showing off for Dean or trying to show Dean up, he wasn’t sure which, but it didn’t matter. A burst of tail-wagging happiness hit him in the chest when Dean sat back, clearly impressed, and said, “I like it.”

In a moment of courage, Castiel allowed himself to smile back. “I’ve worked hard on your account, Mr. Winchester.”

And then something in the room shifted, as though Dean had been waiting for it.

“I guess I’m lucky to have you.” His gaze could have been called complacent, but for the hint around his mouth that suggested he was this close to licking his lips. The look went straight to Castiel’s groin, and he couldn’t hide a wince. With sinking dismay, he remembered that Dean could still smell his arousal, could smell how slick he was.

Dean leaned in close across the table, scent wafting along with him. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Let’s do it.”

Castiel didn’t know if he had the strength to deny himself the comfort of that scent. It promised release from this unbearable heat if he’d just reach in, go a little farther ...

“I’m ... glad to hear it.”

“Shake on it?” There was a knowing smile on that perfect face, and the big, broad hand was inches away, infuriatingly steady.

He couldn’t, Castiel knew he couldn’t. The clamouring thirst wouldn’t let him – he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together, would collapse in a mewling heap if he touched him.

But it cost him everything he had to refuse.

“I don’t ... think that’s a very good idea,” he managed, simultaneously proud of his strength of will and ashamed of it.

_Bad omega._

Dean leaned further in, so close Castiel could feel his body heat. “You sure?”

“Mr. Winchester...” Castiel gasped, voice cracking. “Please ... don’t play with me. I – I can’t ...”

Dean pulled back, and Castiel expected to sense anger or frustration in his scent now, but Dean just smiled at him, not annoyed, not irritated, he just ... smiled, as though determined not to push any further.

He looked ... pleased, strangely, with honey-blood-snow in his scent and that wolfish smile playing around those lips. There was lust in his eyes, and it was all for Castiel if he chose to give in, but all Dean said was “Okay,” in a low, cedar-sweet voice, with his slow, mysterious smile. “Okay, Cas.”

 

It took all of Castiel’s self-control to lurch back to his office before he collapsed in a quivering mess. His brain was on fire and every part of his body was wet. He would have to change into his gym underwear just as soon as he could convince his body that vertical was an option. The raw ache of having had his alpha – no, no, not _his_ alpha, just the alpha, just Dean – so close to him ... oh, God, Mr. Winchester had seen him in heat.

He was going to be mortified the minute he could stop being so horny he couldn’t see straight.

He palmed his dick through his pants and pressed his ass down hard onto the ridge of his chair. It had been so long since he’d touched himself but now it just seemed like a useless gesture. It wasn’t enough. He whined in his throat, breathless for something he wished he didn’t want.

It was official – this was the worst heat of his life, and the utter impotence of his position made him helplessly angry with himself, and the world, and Dean. Especially Dean.

Perfect Dean and his perfect honey-gold-sunshine-on-the-mountain-peaks smell and his perfect eyes and his voice like wood chips and pressed apples and that big calloused hand held out steady to him like a lifeline and why did he not have a dildo in his office –

Which was when Raphael barged in. Castiel bolted upright as his brain tried to rally.

“How’d it go?” asked Raphael without preamble, settling in for a conversation that Castiel could have killed to fast-forward through. “We good?”

“Yes, sir.” Castiel gritted his teeth and wiped the sweat off his face – Raphael ignored that – and gave his boss a concise summary of the meeting.

It was rare to see Raphel show emotion, but he actually looked happy with Castiel’s report. Castiel, in turn, was happy – maybe he’d leave soon. But now Raphael was pacing back and forth across his office, thinking out loud, beginning sentences with: “With the Winchester contract under our belts ...”

Castiel began to tune him out. His heat was loud in his ears, pulsing through his brain with every heartbeat, begging to be set free ...

“What are those doing here?” Raphael demanded, interrupting himself. “Why didn’t Winchester take them?”

“What?” Castiel’s heart sank as he saw what Raphael was talking about – on his desk, right in front of him, were the original documents for the contract. Dammit, dammit, dammit. He’d forgotten to give them to Dean’s assistant after the meeting. It had entirely slipped his stupid, chemical-addled mind.

“He’s gone now! They need to be verified before Monday!”

“It’s not a problem, I’ll get them to him,” Castiel managed. “I’ll courier them to Mr. Winchester’s office.”

“You’re not going to courier confidential documents – not for a contract this big! Get Anna to take them.”

Raphael was piqued and unreasonable – that’s what couriers were _for_ – but Castiel had no energy to argue. He picked up the phone and dialled Raphael’s long-suffering PA. 

“Anna? I’ve got some documents for you to take to Mr. Winchester. If you could have him sign them and bring them back – ”

Anna interrupted. “Mr. Winchester’s out of the office all afternoon – his assistant told me. Said he was up at his lake house for the weekend.”

Fuck.

It wasn’t fair to ask Anna to drive out of the city, but he couldn’t face Dean again today – he’d barely made it out alive. He liked Anna, and she liked him, and she was awfully understanding for a beta – she might do it for him as a favour if he explained ...

“Alright, can you get me that address? Thanks,” he said, scribbling it down. His heart sank as he wrote – it was far, too far outside the city limits to ask Anna to do it.

“Okay, thanks Anna,” sighed Castiel, and hung up.

He turned to Raphael, who for the first time today seemed sympathetic to the fact that weird werewolf stuff was happening to his second-in-command.

“I’ll ask Uriel to do it,” Raphael said brusquely, taking in Castiel’s dilated pupils and sweat-soaked skin.

“No!” Castiel was not letting Uriel in on this. This was his account. Dean was his. And before he knew it, the stupid words were tumbling out of this mouth. “No, I can do it. I’m fine. I’ll finish up early.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes, sir.”

Raphael shot him a dubious look, but left without another word.

And Castiel _was_ sure. Now that the alpha’s scent was no longer sending mating signals directly from his brain to his ass, he’d calmed down a little. His hands were steady enough that he was able to remove the leather case of glass vials from his desk and manage a double injection.

He took a shaky breath. Thinking about the smile on Dean’s lips still made him dizzy, but that would pass. Wait for the suppressants to kick in. In an hour he’d drive up, find Dean, get him to sign the papers, and then go home and bury himself in his bedroom for 24 hours with a dildo and a bottle of vodka. No problem. He was sure. He could do it.

But he was less sure at six than he’d been at five, and less sure at seven than he’d been at six. Finally, after staring at his screen with his jaw slack and his body heavy with the miserable, mounting agony of his heat, he realized that it wasn’t calming down.

Well, there was nothing for it now. Most omegas avoided going out during their heats. He should get someone else to take the documents. But it was dark outside now, the secretaries had all gone home and Anna was nowhere to be found. Reluctantly, he grabbed his bag and the papers and headed for the parkade. 

He kept his mind a careful blank as he slipped out into the traffic. He felt sick, and he concentrated on that. Before he knew it, he was off the freeway and into the highlands, deep in the forest. The road lights were less frequent out here. He’d never been out this way before, but the house was easy to find – it was the only address out this far.

He pulled up on the gravel driveway and killed the engine.

The air was fresh out here, and piercingly cold on his sweaty body. He breathed deep. There was a big, black Chevy parked in carport. The house was big, but not enormous, and the lights were on downstairs. It looked more like a cabin than anything, the kind of place an omega could turn into a home. He pushed that thought away.

They were two professionals – he could manage this.


	2. Chapter 2

Any illusions Cas had that Dean was just another client were obliterated the moment he opened the door.

Dean was big and tall and beautiful. He was wearing a cotton T-shirt with worn jeans. His feet were bare, a beer twisted in his fingers. The expression in his eyes changed when he recognized Castiel, though his posture remained relaxed.

Castiel noticed none of these things.

The alpha’s scent hit him in the chest like a fist, worse because it was familiar now, because it felt like something he’d already fallen in love with and knew he couldn’t have. It was warmer here, heavier, sweeter. Less blood-on-new-fresh-ice and more morning-sunlight-on-the-treetops. Dean was happy here, Castiel realized, that was why. The sensation almost bowled him over.

They stood in silence for a moment – Castiel to regain his bearings with a brain that was suddenly soup, while Dean waited politely for him to recover, because Dean _knew_.

“Evening, Cas. What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel managed, and could go no further.

Dean leaned against the doorjam, friendly and casual, as though desperate, dripping omegas showed up on his front porch every Friday night. Castiel realized he’d forgotten his suit jacket at the office. He was wearing just his shirt, and it was soaked through with sweat. He must look completely debauched.

Dean didn’t look like he minded.

“What can I do for you?” he prompted patiently, grinning.

Castiel tried again. “At our meeting. This afternoon.”

“Yeah, I remember it.”

“I neglected to give you some documents. We need you to verify and sign them before we can meet with your shareholders next week. Raphael thought it would be best if we gave them to you directly. I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this.”

“No inconvenience, don’t worry,” Dean said, with a smile that was either comforting or predatory, Castiel couldn’t figure it out. “Come in.”

Castiel balked, but Dean was already disappearing down the hallway, and so he followed. The whole place smelled like his alpha – the floorboards had soaked up the tangy sweetness of apples and honey and the hunt. It would have been a bright house in daylight, light and airy, but to Castiel’s overwhelmed senses, it felt claustrophobic and heavy.

As though sensing Castiel’s trepidation, Dean didn’t lead him into the darkened rooms at the back of the house, but to the kitchen. It was bright in there, almost sterile. Some of Castiel’s papers from their meeting were scattered across the big wooden kitchen table – Dean must have been reading them in here.

Dean settled in a chair and regarded him. Castiel felt all the muscles in his body prime under that steady gaze. He dropped his gaze to the floor, no longer able to make eye contact – it was too much for his overstimulated omega. 

“Want a beer?”

“No, thank you.”

“Want a seat?”

“No, this won’t take a moment.”

“Okay. What do you need?”

With trembling fingers, Castiel pushed the papers across the table. “Just sign where I’ve put an X, please.”

 _It is unprofessional to fuck your clients_ , Castiel whispered to himself, as he watched Dean flip through the pages to find the dotted lines. _Can’t trust someone who goes down on command. Raphael will fire you. Dean’s your client, can’t respect you if you fuck him, he doesn’t want to mate with you and you don’t really want to mate with him, it’s just your hormones talking ..._

“That everything you need?”

Dean was finished signing, had put the pen down. He took a long gulp of beer. The skin of his lip clung to the mouth of the bottle for a split second before he pulled it away.

Castiel felt a rivulet of slick travel down his cleft.

Oh, God.

He wanted to tell Dean how sorry he was that he’d bared his teeth this morning, he’d be a good omega if only Dean would let him, please, he was sorry, he was sorry, he needed ... something, he was ... 

“That everything?” Dean repeated, quietly.

_Pull yourself together, Novak._

“Yes, that’s everything. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Winchester, and I –”

“Mr. Novak.”

Dean’s voice was firm. Castiel recognized the silent order. Slowly, reluctantly, Castiel raised his eyes to Dean. Dean’s eyes were beautiful, but there was hardness there, and hunger, too.

“Can you do something for me?”

Cas couldn’t speak; the _yesLordanything_ was there on his tongue, and he bit it back. He realized too, somewhere in the back of his brain, that Dean was being delicate with him. He didn’t know what to do with that information, so he just nodded, mouth parted, jaw slack.

“Come here.”

Oh. _Oh._

Castiel let go. Four years of resistance and self-discipline unravelled as he gave in to the command. Lightheaded, he watched his trembling, sweaty palm slide into Dean’s calloused hand.

With that touch, the hunger overwhelmed him. He fell forward into Dean’s lap, knees braced against the man’s thighs. Dean’s mouth was on his, heavy and ferocious, and every bitter thought from this tedious, agonizing day was swept away in the rush of endorphins that burst through his poor, whimpering brain.

Dean tasted like he smelled, and it was intoxicating, but all the subtleties of his scent were lost on Castiel now – all he could taste and feel was heat. It had been so long – so long since he’d let himself kiss or be kissed. Nothing mattered now except Dean’s lips against his, willing him to open up, to give more deeply, and Castiel gave in willingly.

One of Dean’s hands gripped the scruff at the back of Castiel’s neck to pull him in closer, and he couldn’t tell what felt better – the hot insistence of Dean’s tongue against his own, or the firm mastery of his hand in his hair.

Castiel ground down against the alpha’s body and gasped at the heat he found there. Dean’s chest was broad against his own, and Castiel wanted to cry at how many layers of clothing there were between them. He shoved a hand down between the crush of their bodies and found the hem of Dean’s shirt. Pressing his hand against the skin underneath was like a revelation.

Dean was groaning and that was good, that was awesome, because Castiel wanted to make his alpha feel good. That was _his job_. And then Dean’s hand came around to clutch at his cleft and he forgot about everything else.

Castiel’s hips bucked as Dean’s fingers pressed in deeper through the fabric – he couldn’t help himself. He whimpered as Dean growled against his neck. The sound went straight to his groin – the dampness there was appalling, but that didn’t matter anymore.

Dean’s teeth grazed the tendons of his neck and he shuddered.

Dean’s lips were pulling him down again, and Castiel remembered, suddenly, what the hell he was doing. Gasping, he pulled back. His omega impulses screamed at the loss of contact, but he pushed them back, buoyed by panic. He scrambled out of Dean’s lap, legs shaking.

Dean was looking up at him, surprised.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I shouldn’t have, I can’t ...”

But Dean hadn’t broken eye contact with him, hadn’t let Castiel unlock his fingers. He stood, too, and Cas remembered just how big the alpha was.

“Cas, don’t apologize.” Dean’s fingers brushed the hair away from his sweaty forehead. “You’re in heat. It’s okay.”

Castiel ached. He reached for some shreds of dignity and realized he didn’t have any left. “I didn’t come here to ask you to have sex with me,” he managed, as Dean carded his fingers through his hair.

“I know you didn’t.”

“Dean, I can’t ...”

“Cas,” he said, voice soft but inexorable. That was how his name was meant to be said. It was a caress. It was a command.

It was permission.

“Cas. Let me take care of you.”

It must have been something in Castiel’s scent that changed, that told Dean Castiel had given in, because Castiel didn’t realize he’d fallen until they were kissing again. It was frantic and sloppy, but that didn’t matter, because the only thing Castiel needed was Dean’s skin against his.

Then Dean broke away, and Castiel should have been ashamed of the whimper that ripped out of his throat.

“Cas, I really, really want to fuck you,” Dean said, looking at him with serious eyes, and Castiel could do nothing more than let out a high-pitched moan and nod furiously.

How they ever made it upstairs was a blur – Castiel was kissing him, too frantic from the high of physical contact to stop kissing. Dean man-handled him up the stairs, along a hallway, and then – finally – they were in a room, Dean’s room.

It was dark and cool, which was a balm to Castiel’s overstimulated senses, but the scent nearly knocked him out. It was more concentrated here, more powerful. It was in his hair and his clothes and his skin. It was amazing. Castiel moaned as Dean ripped off his own shirt and pushed him, finally, blissfully, down onto the bed.

“Lie there and don’t move,” Dean ordered, and Castiel felt every fibre in his body thrum with the joy of obedience.

Dean unbuckled Castiel’s belt and pulled everything off – pants, underwear – in one go. The cold air of the room hit the dampness on Castiel’s ass and he hissed, embarrassed, but Dean was having none of that. He tucked his fingers down into the line of Castiel’s ass, bracketing his hips with his thumbs, and began to knead, digging his fingers deep into the cleft and stimulating the fluids there. 

“Gah! Oh!” Castile wriggled as Dean pressed in with a finger, gently stroked his perineum with another. Dean grinned, then lowered his head to kiss the pale skin just above where his pubic hair began.

Castiel thought, dizzily, what a weird place to kiss. And then Dean began to lick and suck that tender place, and okay, that was alright, then.

Castiel was desperate for Dean’s dick inside him and squirmed impatiently against Dean’s fingers, but he knew this part was important for alphas, to scent them and mark them and bite them, so he was as patient as he could be as Dean removed his hands from his ass and started unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up – and then his tongue was in his belly button and Castiel let out a sound that was sort of a shriek and sort of a giggle and he was more ashamed of that noise than anything he’d done so far today, but Dean was laughing and kissing harder and, well, that was okay then, too.

There were teeth against his stomach and then there was nipping and he wasn’t quite so far gone to pretend that it didn’t hurt, because it did, but he focused on trying to slip off his tie with fingers that were wet and trembling.

Dean batted his hands away and pulled off his tie in one fluid gesture. He undid the final shirt button and leaned down to Castiel’s throat, teeth bared – and then stopped.

“Cas? This okay?”

For a minute Castiel couldn’t process why Dean had stopped, and then he realized his anxiety must have told in his scent.

“Cas?”

“It’s just ... I don’t love teeth.”

That admission was minus about a hundred omega points right there, but Dean shifted gears without hesitation, pushing Castiel’s embarrassment aside.

Not for the first time today, the alpha – surprisingly – was careful with him.

“S’okay, Cas,” Dean murmured, leaning down to kiss his temple, “don’t worry – you don’t have to bare if you don’t want to. We’re okay. Lie back.”

Castiel saw stars next, as Dean pressed his clothed erection into the V of Castiel’s naked groin. Dean’s cock was heavy and hot through the denim. Every stretch of Dean’s body against his was like fire, and Castiel craved more, pushing greedily into Dean’s touch. Dean was kissing and nibbling again, but he stayed below the collarbones, and the touches of teeth were mere grazes.

Dean broke away from touching him to undo his belt, but that was too much for Castiel. Shifting on the bed, he gave an impatient growl and pulled Dean’s pants the rest of the way down, then sank to his knees on the floor between Dean’s thighs, which quickly parted once Dean realized what the omega was about. 

“Oh, you’re such a good boy.”

_Good boy._

Dean’s hand was in his hair, and it coiled tightly as Castiel began to nuzzle his cock, and ... oh God, yes, it was good, he was right where he was meant to be. Dean’s cock was beautiful, the flesh wet and warm and pulsing. Castiel was too far gone to do anything more than swallow the leaking tip, press kisses to the darker skin where the knot was swelling, but judging from Dean’s reaction, it was enough.

“Don’t stop Cas, don’t stop ...” he murmured, nails biting into Castiel’s scalp.

Dean’s smell down here was intoxicating, musky. Castiel felt the desire gather deep in his spine as he tried to pay attention to what he was doing with his tongue. There was nothing expert about his desperate mouthing – whatever experience he’d had at this, it was too long ago to be helpful now – but Dean was making good noises, and so was Castiel – his omega was getting everything it wanted, was making Dean feel good – the litany of praises from Dean’s mouth was getting him so wet – 

Another wave of heat-nausea hit Castiel in the gut and he pulled off, gasping. He pressed his forehead to Dean’s thigh as he waited for it to pass, moaning.

“Oh, poor omega. Come here.” Dean hauled him back up onto the bed as easily as if he were a doll, and kissed him furiously.

“No, wait, I can – ” _Finish_ , he tried to say, _I want to make you feel good_ , but Dean’s bare chest was flush against his again and he couldn’t find the words.

“I know you can, but I want you like this. Can’t wait any more. Spread your legs, just like that, good boy. Deep breaths. Oh, God, you’re so wet.” Castiel moaned as Dean pressed a finger – a remarkably steady finger, given the circumstances – in, in, in. Castiel cried out as the finger found his prostate without preamble. “How did you last all day?”

“I – am – incredibly professional,” Castiel gasped, as the finger began to stroke. He didn’t know his body could release any more liquid, but a fresh spurt of slick leaked out onto Dean’s fingers. His cock was standing to attention hard.

“I can tell,” Dean grinned.

“Oh God! Ah!” Castiel gasped, as another finger entered him.

Was this normal? Nobody had ever taken this long to pleasure him with their lips and their fingers. Whatever Dean was doing, it felt amazing – he was barely capable of conscious thought – but he was tired and embarrassed and he just needed Dean to fuck him already.

“How you doing down there, Cas?”

“Dean ... Dean, please, I want ... I’m – I’m ...” He’d given in, he’d given up, and it seemed too cruel now that Dean was forcing him to speak.

“Yeah, I bet, honey – you’ve been aching for this all day.”

“Please, Dean! Stop teasing me!”

“Not teasing you. Almost there, don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean flipped him over easily. Castiel shifted his weight onto his knees and elbows, but his arms weren’t up to the task. He tried to keep steady, ass up, the way omegas were supposed to present, but he was shaking too hard – it was all he could do to raise his hips up properly.

He buried his face in the sheets. There were tears on his cheeks.

He felt Dean’s lips on the back of his sweaty neck. It would have been chaste, but for the dull, hot pressure of Dean’s cock at his entrance.

“You ready?”

Castiel moaned. His body didn’t even seem to care about pleasure any more – he just needed to satisfy this thing. “Dean! Please!”

With one long, slow, beautiful stroke, Dean entered him. Whatever parts of Castiel’s brain were still functioning shut down now, overwhelmed with the final surge of mating lust. He finally, finally had Dean’s perfect cock inside him. It was at once too much and just right and not enough, but none of that mattered, because his panting, strung-out omega was finally getting what it thought it wanted.

Dean moved, and time splintered. Dean’s dick stretched him low and long. His hands pressed tight on his hips, controlling the angle, the other hand on his shoulder, bracing. Castiel’s hips moved to meet every thrust, his mating drive fully in control now. Castiel couldn’t have said whether it was three strokes or thirty, but the stress of the day had taken its toll on both of them, and soon Dean was rocking faster than his self-possession admitted, his breath coming harder.

He could feel the base of Dean’s dick swell, and even as he began consciously trying to change his thrusts to indicate that he didn’t want to go deeper, couldn’t possibly go deeper, his traitorous body ground down.

Dean pulled back and Castiel felt the whine rip out of his throat – shame and anger for wanting it, fear that Dean would knot him, but all Dean did was tighten his hands. He didn’t push past the resistance of Castiel’s hole.

Dean’s voice was soothing as he breathed into his ear, “I know, Cas, I know but we’re not gonna do that.” Castiel groaned in mingled frustration and relief. “Believe me, any other time you want, I’m up for it, but not tonight.”

Dean’s arms were shaking as he thrust, but he reached one hand down under Castiel’s body and slipped it gently around his neglected cock, and pulled.

The utter unexpectedness of that gesture did Castiel in.

“Dean!” he gasped, coming in the cradle of Dean’s fingers. He felt himself clamp down hard on Dean, and let the feedback loop of their combined scents wash over him as Dean came warm and sloppy inside him.

White noise rushed in his ears and he gasped for air.

Dean hadn’t knotted him. He was red, raw, bitten, trembling, woozy and thoroughly fucked – but not knotted. Thank God.

Knotting was for mates. An omega could get into trouble that way.

In the back of his mind, he registered Dean’s weight on him, plastered sweaty against his back, but he didn’t mind. It felt cozy, not claustrophobic. He could feel Dean’s heartbeat against his shoulder blades, his cock shivering limply inside of him. Dean’s scent was everywhere in his head, but all the teeth had gone out of it – it was smooth and relaxed, like dark summer shadows and warm rain.

His brain was blissfully empty, his body full. Time hadn’t yet come back to them. He wondered, vaguely, if this was it – if maybe Dean had fucked him hard enough to last him all the way through his heat, and he could just drive home now and sleep for the rest of the weekend.

That would be awesome.

“Thanks,” he whispered, when he had enough breath for words, “for not ... you know.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t really have a chance to talk about that,” Dean replied hoarsely. Dean’s lips were in his hair, then, and at his temple, before he said, “M’gonna pull out now, okay?”

Dean shifted wetly against his ass, and Castiel couldn’t bite down his whine.

“How you doing?”

Castiel had no idea. He’d been tottering so close to the edge all day that the absence of heat left him feeling ... numb, almost empty. He needed ... something. He wanted to gather Dean around him like a blanket, or an anchor. He wanted bury down tight and never come out.

“Here, turn over, let me look at you.”

Castiel groaned as he pulled his exhausted body around. He met Dean’s eyes, and was hit with a wave of gratitude. What did you say to the alpha who’d fucked you without knotting or marking you? He’d never had a one-night stand in heat ... was there protocol? 

Dean put a hand on his forehead. “Your fever’s coming down, good boy.” 

_Good boy._

Castiel’s chest felt tight.

“Talk to me, Cas, I can hear your brain clicking. You okay? Did I hurt you?” He dragged a gentle thumb over Castiel’s wet cheek.

“No, no, I’m okay. I’m just ... you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean leaned down and kissed him, soothing, as though they weren’t strangers.

Castiel tugged him down into the kiss, opening up under the gentle pressure of Dean’s tongue. He reached up to stroke his hands through Dean’s hair, but hesitated. Alphas could be touchy about things like that.

Dean sighed comfortably against his lips. “You can touch my hair, it’s okay.”

Castiel thought maybe he could fall asleep kissing Dean. And then maybe he’d wake up in his own bed and this would all be over. Or maybe he’d wake up next to Dean and it would all just be okay, somehow. He really, really did not want to get out of Dean’s bed.

Muzzily, he realized he was exhibiting extremely typical omega post-mating impulses. He didn’t like being clingy, which is why he was immensely grateful when Dean pressed up tight against him without asking if he needed it. Dean knew he needed it, could tell from his scent how much he craved it.

“Stop thinking, Cas,” murmured Dean. He was being lulled to sleep by the heavy, post-coital hormones Castiel’s body was pumping into the air. “We’re okay. We’ll sort it out tomorrow.”

He brushed his fingertips through Dean’s hair. He felt Dean’s lips against his chest, kissing the bruises and bite marks, and closed his eyes. Dean was right – they’d sort it out tomorrow. They were fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schmoopy, schmoopy schmaltz.

Dean awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and for a moment he was confused. But then he took stock of the chaos that was his bed and the overpowering stench of really, really good sex. Behind the stink of his own body, there was a delicate, ethereal scent that wound through his sheets and over his skin.

_Castiel._

He remembered that he had an omega in the house and omegas made homes and more importantly, from the smell of it, this omega was making coffee.

He’d half-expected to find that Cas had bolted in the night, but the other man’s clothes were still where Dean had tossed them, balled up in a damp mess on his floor.

Dean grinned. Alright, then.

He crawled out of bed, surprisingly stiff, and tried to find some clean boxers and a T-shirt. He thought for a moment about getting properly dressed, but decided against it. It was his house, after all.

He stumbled blearily downstairs. When he got to the ground floor, he could hear a voice coming from the other end of the house. It sounded loud, almost angry. Worried, Dean sped up, but he stopped when he reached the kitchen.

Cas was standing at the stove, back to him, scrambling eggs in a frying pan and arguing heatedly with someone on the phone, which he held pressed between his ear and his shoulder. It was clearly someone from work, and Cas was clearly irritated with them, and that was about as far as Dean got before Cas’s scent smacked him in the face.

Even through the coffee and the bacon, he smelled mouth-watering. The man was still in heat, that much was undeniable. Dean’s dick gave an approving twitch.

Cas moved through the kitchen with an easy grace, confident, like he owned the place. Yesterday’s flinching, defensive omega was nowhere to be found. And he looked damn good in Dean’s boxers. They were a little too loose along those narrow hips, which was fine by Dean.

As Dean leaned against the wall, admiring the view, Cas turned his head. He met Dean’s eyes, and there was a moment where Dean didn’t know how it was going to go.

Most omegas wouldn’t flash their anger or disapproval at an alpha, but Cas had shown that he wasn’t afraid to do that, and he might be embarrassed about last night.

But then Cas smiled wryly back at him, and gestured with the spatula to the kitchen table.

There were plates and utensils set out on the table, and two glasses of orange juice.

Dean sat and reached for the bacon. “Not ready yet,” said Cas, leaning over and fwapping his fingers lightly with the spatula before turning back to the stove. “No, not _you_ , Zach – listen, I don’t care what Uriel told you, I’m telling you now ...”

Dean grinned like an absolute idiot. His alpha liked a challenge, but more importantly, he’d known from the second Castiel had bared his teeth at him in that board room that he liked the grumpy bitch.

Dean took a sip of his coffee – God, he hadn’t had coffee this good in years – and watched Cas argue while cooking eggs. Then, with a farewell to Zachariah that could only be called imperious, he hung up and turned to face Dean.

“Sorry about borrowing your phone. I forgot to charge mine yesterday.” There was no hint of self-consciousness about him as he stood in Dean’s boxers in Dean’s kitchen. He seemed determined to face this thing head-on.

Dean liked that. “No trouble. Good morning, by the way. This is amazing coffee.”

Cas shrugged, smiling. “It’s your coffee.”

“Yeah, but it never tastes this good when I make it.”

“Well, maybe you’re just really bad at making coffee,” Cas said, pushing toast and eggs onto two cracked plates. “Do all your dishes look like this? You’d think someone in your income bracket could afford plates in one piece.”

There it was, that hint of sass that made Dean wanted to pull him in close and inhale.

“Hey now – I didn’t have crazy sex with you just so you could criticize my crockery.”

Cas shot him a look, as if to say he was hoping they could get through breakfast like civilized people, without referencing his obvious heat.

Okay, then. Dean changed the subject. “What was all that about?” he asked, gesturing to the phone with his mug. “With Zachariah? Anything wrong?”

“You’re not my only client,” Cas said lightly. He put the plates down on the table, but leaned back against the counter instead of sitting down close to Dean. “I had some work to do, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but it’s the weekend.”

“I usually work on Saturdays.” Cas glanced at the clock on the microwave. “I told Zachariah I’d be in this afternoon.”

Dean looked at the flush that had been gathering on Cas’s neck and cheeks ever since Dean had entered the room, but he let it slide for now. “So, is this an ‘I’m sorry for working on Saturday’ breakfast?”

“No, this is an ‘I’m sorry for the awkward omega stuff’ breakfast.”

Dean grinned. “Yep, hot omega in my bed. Nightmare, really.” Dean expected Cas to smile with him, but his face became stony.

“Dean – Mr. Winchester – ”

“Let’s stick with Dean.”

“Dean. I need you to know I’m not in the habit of showing up to work in heat.”

“Didn’t think you were.”

“I’m on suppressants,” Cas persisted, like he needed to explain.” I’m on a lot of them. Something went wrong yesterday. They just stopped working.”

“These things happen, Cas – it’s not a big deal.”

Cas gave him a Look. “It’s kind of a big deal. I just heat-fucked an extremely important client and my boss is going to fire me if he ever finds out.”

“Well, I’ve got it on pretty good authority that your client won’t be telling Raphael anything.” Dean became serious as he took a critical look at Cas. “But you shouldn’t be driving. And you’re definitely not going in to work today. You’re already shaky.”

Cas looked down at his hands, as though he was surprised to find them trembling. He looked back up at Dean, anxiety in those deep blue eyes. “Dean, I’m – ”

Dean interrupted, eager to keep it light, to keep Cas from getting too uncomfortable. “Look, you don’t need to decide right now. Can we have breakfast already? I’m starving.” Dean pulled Cas’s plate over to the place beside him. “It looks great, Cas. Sit down.”

Cas sat, but too quickly. There was sudden stiffness in his frame. Dean frowned – he hadn’t meant to order him, it just came out like that.

“You don’t like it when I give you orders, huh?” Obedience and docility was the omega way, but Cas had clearly spent time training himself out of that. Heat must feel like a relapse for him. “Sorry – I’ll watch that.”

“It’s not that,” Cas said quietly, toying with his toast.

Dean noticed the white lips drawn tight, remembered the way he’d moaned last night, tears on his face when Dean called him a good boy.

Oh. He did like it. Some part of him liked it and was ashamed of liking it. Ah.

“Cas, come here,” said Dean gently. Cas raised his head, compelled, and Dean did what he’d been wanting to do all morning and kissed him, coffee breath and all. Cas was so surprised that he almost jerked away – but he stilled once Dean put his hand on the nape of his neck. He guided Cas’s head to his and kissed him deeply, reining in the alpha impulse to nip.

Cas’s scent must have done a whammy on Dean’s brain when he wasn’t looking, because slipping into Cas’s mouth felt like coming home.

“Cas.” Dean pulled away and kissed his shoulder, and Cas make a sound half-way between a grumble and a sigh. “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. Your omega shit’s your own deal. But I like you. And you like me enough to make me breakfast. You don’t hate me, is my point. And you’re in my kitchen, in my boxers, in heat. So why don’t we just roll with this?”

Cas buried his head in his arms on the table with a groan. “This is so embarrassing. I haven’t hit heat since I was in school. I don’t know what omegas _do_ , Dean.”

“Well, they don’t go into work on a Saturday, for one thing.”

“What if it lasts until Monday?”

“Cas, you’re worrying too much. Relax.”

Cas sighed, and looked at Dean. His scent had turned tired and gray around the edges. “It’s not that easy, Dean. Heat makes omegas vulnerable. It just does.”

_Cas wincing under Dean’s teeth / baring his own teeth, defensive and angry._

“I have a life, and it’s good, I like it, and I don’t want ... ”

Cas broke off. He didn’t have to say it out loud: the danger was that the alpha would knot him and leave him, brain sick with breeding hormones. You heard of it happening, sometimes, and the response was always the same: omegas had to be more careful. A single, unmated omega was an easy target. Cas didn’t want to take that risk. Dean was a risk.

Well, that was fine, because Dean had made his mind up last night. Cas was stubborn and disobedient and Dean wanted him anyways. And if Cas needed to do this on his own terms, then that was what they were going to do.

“Cas, you can go home if that’s what you want – I’ll drive you. Hell, you can lock yourself in the spare room all weekend and I won’t touch you, scout’s honour. But I can feel your body gearing up. I don’t know when you had your last heat, but this is a bad one, I can smell it. And if you need a friend to help you through it, then I’m your guy. I won’t knot you, and you don’t have to bare. You’re safe here. Honest. I won’t bite.”

Cas was silent for a moment. Too late, Dean worried that Cas might think he was taking advantage. Hell, maybe he _was_ taking advantage. He was hard for Cas, that was true. But he also really, really didn’t like the idea of this omega alone in an empty apartment, heat-sick, keening for relief that wouldn’t come. He was here – he could help.

“And I’m not ... you know, getting in the way?” Cas finally asked, surprisingly quiet.

Dean knew what Cas was really asking. He needed permission. He needed Dean to tell him that it was okay to give in. Dean grinned. “Cas, it’s Saturday. I’ve got nothing on. It’s either fucking you into the mattress or fixing the bookshelf.”

Cas raised his eyebrows. “So I’m like your weekend project?”

“Yup,” Dean said comfortably. “That good with you?”

Cas rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t quite able to suppress a smile.

Dean grinned. “I’m taking your snide eye-roll as a yes. Now eat your breakfast, you’re going to need it.”

“Bossy.”

“Alpha.”

“ _Bossy_ alpha.”

With Castiel relaxed enough to be sarcastic again, breakfast was pleasant, even if the mounting pressure of Cas’s heat was impossible to ignore. But Cas was clearly determined to avoid mentioning it, and as much as Dean wanted to bend him over the table and take him right there, he let Cas have his own way for now. Besides, Dean was hungry, and Cas’s cooking was amazing.

“It’s just eggs, Dean,” said Cas, shooting him a concerned look when he told him this. “You do know how to make eggs, right? This isn’t a brand new food group I’m introducing you to, is it?”

Dean cheerfully ignored him, and took seconds. Cas made more coffee, Dean put the dishes in to soak, then Dean decided that the pretence had gone on long enough and he pulled Cas back upstairs into the chaos that was his room.

Without preamble or embarrassment, Cas leaned forward and kissed him with a sigh that said he’d wanted to do that ever since Dean had promised to fuck him into the mattress.

“What do you need, Cas?” Dean murmured against his lips. “Tell me.”

“Just ... touch me.”

Dean let his hands rest on those ridiculously skinny hips. “When was the last time someone got to touch you?”

“Been a while.”

Cas’s movements were less frantic now – he didn’t push and tremble the way he had last night, and he seemed surer, more confident. Dean was happy to take it slow, even if his alpha was tugging at its chain, growling for another go at that pretty hide. Dean liked kissing. Dean was good at kissing. Slow was no hardship. He pushed Cas down into the bedding and rubbed against him, heavy and steady.

Watching Cas relax into the rhythm was a reward in itself. Comfortable in Dean’s presence, he was finally unashamed.

“Oh, God, just like that,” he murmured, matching the thrust of Dean’s hips as Dean pressed himself against the wet fabric of Cas’s boxers. Well, _his_ boxers, but Cas was wearing them.

They were tangled up in the mess of blankets and clothes and each others’ scents, and it wasn’t long before Cas’s eyes opened wide. A moment later Dean felt it too, the spike of pheromones that meant that Cas could no longer afford to play around.

“Turn over,” Dean ordered. Cas was on his knees in an instant, and Dean was right there with him, pressing his fingers into Cas’s body as Cas slipped into standard position.

Cas was silent when Dean entered him, but he pressed a reassuring hand to Dean’s when Dean asked if he was okay. When Dean began to thrust in earnest, Cas met his strokes like lapping water, and when Dean pulled Cas’s body flush against his, the omega broke like a wave, crying out wordlessly.

Dean was determined to last longer than he had last night. Personal pride was at stake here. Fighting against the warning signs coming from his thighs, he worked Cas through the sensitive aftershocks, biting his lip to hold out as long as he could. But no alpha could resist the brilliant scent that Cas was pumping out, clean and sweet, and too soon, he was spilling to Cas with a groan.

It was no sacrifice to avoid knotting him; last night had been hard, but looking down the plane of Cas’s back to where his head was bowed in trust, it was the easiest thing in the world to rein his alpha in.

Afterwards, they lay gasping, limbs properly tangled, Cas’s boxers bunched down around his calves. The bed was a complete mess.

Dean pulled Cas more snugly into his arms and licked a long, hard stripe up the column of his neck. Cas practically purred.

“Feeling alright?”

“Better. Was easier that time.”

“Good. That’s ‘cause you’re relaxed.” Cas’s pheromones were curling through Dean’s brain. He was ready to go back to sleep – maybe they could open the curtains, nap in the sun ...

Which was why he was appalled when Cas abruptly pushed Dean’s weight off him.

“Come on,” he said, dragging Dean out of bed. “If I’m here, we might as well go through those contract files.”

“Cas, it’s _Saturday_. What’s wrong with you?”

Cas looked at him with a kind of half-exasperated, half-pleased expression. “How did you ever get to be an executive with that kind of attitude?”

Dean reluctantly rose and dug out some dry clothes. He was hampered by the fact that Cas – despite his insistence that work trumped napping or fucking – didn’t seem to be able to let Dean get more than a few paces away before he wanted to touch him again.

“Hi there, Clingy. You’re sure you don’t want to get back in bed and cuddle?”

“Stop teasing. My biological programming thinks we should cuddle. _I_ think we should do some work.” Dean wasn’t sure if he should take offense at that, but then Cas leaned forward and kissed him very sweetly, looking for all the world like an omega poster-child, pretty and pleasing. Manipulative bastard. “Come on.”

“Ugh. I don’t have the head for this sort of stuff,” Dean moaned, still scent-dizzy, as Cas spread out the folders on the living room table. “I’m good at big picture things. I hate details.”

“I know,” said Cas, a shade smugly. “I can tell. That’s why you have me.”

He sunk to the floor, leaving Dean alone on the couch.

He’d found Cas a pair of old sweats that were small enough to fit, but Dean’s button-up was too big on him, and Dean didn’t resist the urge to slip one hand down the gaping collar to stroke the muscle along Cas’s shoulder.

His lawyer made a very unprofessional “hnggg” noise and wriggled. Dean grinned and stroked him there again.

His fingers skimmed over a pair of faded crescent marks. He’d been too distracted to notice them before – they were almost invisible. The bite lines were jagged and there was a streak of purple underneath the white surface scars. Dean carefully filed that observation away for a future conversation, but soon he let his attention and his hands wander back up to Cas’s dark, thick, wonderfully tuggable hair.

“Dean,” groused Cas, squirming under his grip. “This is important. The better you understand this, the better decisions we can make.”

Cas wasn’t quite able to keep a quiver of arousal out of his voice, but Dean gave him points for the effort. Sliding down to sit on the floor with him, Dean propped his head up on Cas’s other shoulder and said, “Okay, Yoda. Explain.”

Cas was dedicated – Dean knew for sure that if he’d been the one in heat, there would have been exactly zero chance of getting any work done. But Cas was disciplined. Dean also suspected, as Cas walked him through the minutiae, that this was a kind of therapy. He couldn’t handle his heat, but he could handle Dean’s account, dammit.

Dean found that kind of a turn-on. So sue him.

It couldn’t last, though. Cas’s body couldn’t ignore the presence of an alpha for long, and before long Dean could smell the mating pheromones begin to roil again. It took a lot out of a body to go through a punishing heat like this, and after an hour of sifting through pages of sub-clauses, it was showing. Cas’s attention began to wander, and sweat gathered on his brow. His breathing came harder, and with it, the sweet, clear scent of _omega-in-heat._

Dean, who’d become interested in the lecture despite himself, gently pulled the pen out of Cas’s fingers, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Enough work for today, Cas. I think you’re done.”

Cas kissed him back, humming his agreement. Dean could feel the omega’s body prime with expectation. Cas was also clearly sore, though. He hadn’t consciously signed up for a weekend of rigourous marathon sex, and this had been a lot of activity for someone who hadn’t had a heat in years, so Dean nestled him down on the couch and gave him a blow job.

“Dean, this isn’t ...” Cas feebly protested, overwhelmed. “You’re not supposed to ... ”

“Shut up,” mumbled Dean fondly, adjusting his grip around Cas’s lean hips. “You need a break.”

Dean wondered, vaguely, if anyone had ever done this for Cas before; he suspected not. Which was a damn shame, because Cas was beautiful like this, body arching against the couch cushions, face pressed into the crook of his arm.

Dean pulled up for a moment, and waited for Cas – chest heaving – to come back to his senses long enough to pull his arm away and meet Dean’s gaze.

“Cas.”

“Yes, Dean?” he answered. His lip was raw and wet where he’d been worrying it, but there was nothing but trust in those big, blue eyes. It was trust born of an I-have-no-roadmap-for-this-madness kind of headspace, but that was good enough for now.

“Don’t hide your face. I want to watch you when you come. Haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”

Cas struggled with that one for a moment or two, but then Dean took Cas’s hand in his and gripped it, like he had last night, anchoring him, and Cas nodded.

Dean got back to work, taking Cas’s warm, wet cock back into his mouth. Omega cocks were small, just a mouthful, and lack of experience was no hindrance to Dean here. Dean hollowed his cheeks and let his fingers dip into the curve of Cas’s lovely ass, and that was it. Cas’s body wasn’t picky: it craved release, and the dual assault was enough to finish him off.

Cas came beautifully, gasping and breathless. His face was open, free from anxiety or embarrassment, lost in his own pleasure.

Then Dean sort of ruined the moment by choking on Cas’s come.

“Oh, shut it,” he wheezed, when he finally finished coughing, but Cas was laughing too hard to listen.

Cas reached out his arms, laughing, still trying to catch his breath. Dean obliged, happy that Cas was finally asking for what he wanted. Two grown men were a little too big for this sort of thing on a couch this size, but who cared? Cas reached out a hand to Dean’s temple and ran his hand through his hair. Omegas usually didn’t touch like that, but Dean found he liked it. It was comforting, and even ... possessive, in an accidental way.

Dean had to be careful; Cas was happy, and happy Cas was a strong aphrodisiac.

“Cas.”

“Mm?”

“Okay, don’t be mad, but I think we might have got some ... fluids on your originals.”

It must have been hard to glare through the blissed-out hormones in that omega brain of his, but somehow Cas managed.

“When Raphael finds out that I murdered you – ”

Dean shut him up with a kiss.

 

 

Eventually Cas’s heat calmed down enough to let them shower, do some laundry, and make the bed – which they then promptly unmade.

“Ugh, we’re not putting on clothes again, are we?” asked Cas afterwards, as Dean pulled on a clean T-shirt. “I’ve gone through three pairs of your underwear.”

“Not ‘we,’ just me. You’re going to have a nap, and I have to go out for a bit. Got some chores to do.”

Cas sat up at once, clearly discomfited. “Oh?”

“I’m just going for groceries.” Dean used his alpha voice, the one that meant the Dean was in charge and Cas could trust him. “I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

“Cas?”

“No, I know. I just don’t ...” Cas stared at a spot on the far wall, not quite able to meet Dean’s eyes. “I don’t want you to leave me.” The admission cost him.

Dean didn’t insult Cas by pointing out that this was Dean’s home, and what was he going to do, bolt? He didn’t waste his breath on cheap reassurances. He crossed the room and kissed Cas, fierce. Cas opened up for him with a whimper that made Dean’s chest go all fluttery and alpha-possessive. _His, his, his._ “I’m getting groceries. I’ll be back by five. Promise.”

“Okay.” Cas looked embarrassed that he’d let his worry show, which was somehow worse than just the worry. Dean kissed him again, hard, pushing him back down into the clean white comforter. Cas went without a fuss. Cas had been here less than 24 hours, and already the master bedroom was smelling fresher, softer, less aggressive. He could see the appeal of having an omega around long-term.

Finally, Dean broke away. Which was hard to do, with Cas all naked and clean and soft-smelling. “I want you to take a nap, Cas. Give your brain a break.”

“Yes, sir,” Cas said with a sigh, but Dean knew he’d follow his instructions. “Do me a favour when you’re out?”

“Mm?”

“Buy some paprika. You don’t have any.”

 

 

Dean was back well before five. He’d hoped to find Cas still asleep, but the bedroom was empty. He found Cas in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet.

“Cas, Jesus! Are you – ”

“Oh, good, you’re back,” Cas said, rather loopily, rising to his knees. His hands were trembling. Dean let Cas press him against the wall and unbuckle his belt. “Sorry. Need you. Need to touch you.”

“It’s okay, baby. Were you sick?” asked Dean, as Cas slipped the waistband of Dean’s underwear down to let his cock free.

“Mmm,” hummed Cas in the negative, giving Dean a few gentle, reverent pulls. “Just feel gross.”

No wonder Cas hated heat so much. Dean pressed his hand against Cas’s forehead – it was warm and sweaty, a little fevered, but nothing to worry about now that Dean was back. And then Dean stopped worrying entirely, because Cas wrapped his lips sweetly around Dean’s dick and began to suck. His fingers lightly stroked Dean’s balls and massaged the purpling skin where Dean’s knot was rising.

“Oh, God, baby – just like that, yeah,” whispered Dean, wrapping his fingers tight in Cas’s hair. “Good boy, Cas, oh, man ... that’s amazing, just like that, don’t stop ... that’s perfect, you’re perfect ...”

Once again, Dean came embarrassingly quickly. He didn’t have a chance to warn Cas, but Cas clearly had better instincts than Dean. He swallowed beautifully, and he kept a steady, unrelenting pressure against Dean’s knot that had Dean seeing stars as he emptied himself into Cas’s mouth.

“That was amazing,” Dean panted, as Cas pulled off gently. He gave a few last comforting licks, then moved back so that Dean could slide down the wall to join him on the floor.

Cas wrapped his arms loosely around Dean’s waist and continued to suckle his cock. Dean let him, pulling his fingers through Cas’s hair, relishing the feel of Cas’s tender mouth on his sensitive skin.

“Feeling better?” Dean asked, when Cas’s ministrations began to slow.

“Much,” Cas sighed, dropping an idle kiss on Dean’s knot. He tucked Dean back into his underwear, then leaned up to rest his head on Dean’s chest. “Still queasy. It’s not fair. All the gross stuff happens to omegas. Ack, no, don’t kiss me, I’m disgusting.”

“Bought you a toothbrush,” said Dean, kissing him anyways.

“Did you remember the paprika?”

“Yes, dear. What’s it for?”

 

 

They made dinner – or rather, Cas made dinner, and Dean drank a beer and watched him. He liked watching Cas, liked the confidence of his fingers as he cooked, liked the pretty line of his throat as he tossed back his own beer.

“Is there any garlic in this God-forsaken kitchen?” Cas asked, prying into cupboards.

“The jar by the toaster. I _can_ actually cook, you know.”

“Oh, I believe you – I’m just trying to show off.”

“Do you need to text anyone, let them know where you are?” Dean asked, hit by the sudden thought.

Cas shook his head. “Taste?” he asked instead, holding out the spoon with sauce, and Dean didn’t push the issue.

The paprikash was delicious.

After dinner, Cas downed some Tylenol with a glass of water from the sink. Dean left his beer on the table and pressed his body up against Cas’s, relishing the unabashed gasp as Dean pushed his hips down tight. He’d been wondering if maybe his cycle was winding down, but judging by the Cas was quivering under Dean’s touch, they were in for a long night.

Which was fine by Dean.

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Dean murmured, very carefully letting his teeth graze over the tendons in Cas’s neck. He was ready to pull back at the first sign that it was unwelcome, but Cas just moaned. Dean moaned with him.

“Upstairs. Now.”

They were comfortable with each others’ bodies now, with the weight and feel of the other person, and they moved in seamless rhythm, hot and greedy.

“Out of – ah! – curiosity,” gasped Cas in a lucid moment, “if you knotted me, do you think we’d get this over with faster?”

“Maybe,” Dean grunted, “maybe not. Why? Am I tiring you out?”

He changed the angle of his thrusts, taking Cas by surprise, and whatever his answer was, it dissolved into a moan.

Afterwards, Dean couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as Cas held onto him, sated and gasping, fingers in his hair. They were both shaking a little.

Dean pressed deeper into Cas’s neck. His scent was changing – it was less piercing and more earthy, and it was strongest in the pool of his throat.

“Glad you stayed,” he said, on impulse.

Cas tightened his grip, anchoring himself before he admitted anything. “Me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about posting this later than I'd said I would: work and hangovers got in the way.
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and the kudos, guys! I've never posted a multi-chapter fic before, and it's been a blast writing with your encouragement.

Sunday, Cas was exhausted. Dean kept him hydrated, but he didn’t want to eat, and Dean didn’t make him. He could see that all of Cas’s energy was focused on one thing now. He didn’t have the mojo to hide it or fight it or feel ashamed of it: he was just one moaning ball of need.

“Go to sleep,” Dean ordered, after their second round. From the hectic buzz of Cas’s scent, his body wanted this thing out of him as much as he did, but just now he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Dean – ”

“No arguing.” Dean ran his fingers over his favourite part of Cas’s belly, the sensitive skin just above his thatch. “You’re exhausted. Go on, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“This is pathetic,” Cas muttered, without conviction, before he buried his face in Dean’s chest and went out like a light. It was as though he was catching up on years’ worth of sleep. Or maybe he was just napping to avoid the nausea.

Dean pushed the hair back from his omega’s forehead, but then his hand stilled. Cas craved contact now, but he might not like the soft, possessive touches once he was back to form. Dean would miss it, though. It had been a long time since someone had needed him like this. It was like alpha catnip. He couldn’t expect it to last, but it was nice now.

“Good boy,” Dean whispered into his hair, before manoeuvring out from under Cas’s weight. He grabbed a pair of jeans and left Cas to enjoy his well-earned sleep – God knew they hadn’t done much of it last night.

He thought about showering, and decided he didn’t want to. He smelled like sweat and alpha, but he also smelled like Cas, and that was worth hanging on to.

It was a nice day. He puttered in the carport for a while, but he was careful to leave the front door open.

In the back of his mind, Dean was growing concerned. This wasn’t nearly the longest heat he’d ever heard of, especially not if Cas hadn’t had one in a while, but he was still a little antsy. Alpha heats were fast and furious, over in a few hours, and he’d forgotten how complicated and taxing omega heats could be.

Dean reminded himself, not for the first time, that he had to be careful: Cas’s hormones were affecting him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Dean might be close to demanding things he had no right to ask for.

Finished tinkering with the Impala for the moment, Dean trundled back inside. He ate some leftovers, did some dishes, then sat down in front of the TV. He threw the game on mute and set out to tackle the rest of the impossible documents Cas had brought.

He found it hard to focus, though, and it wasn’t because the material was dense: his brain was still fuzzy from this morning.

Dean knew himself well. He knew that the sight and scent of Cas groaning in his bed made something primal seize inside of him, and that he was way past half-way to wanting to mate. That was a problem. Cas’s body wanted to breed, but Cas might not want a mate right now, or ever. He had his own life and his own issues, and those issues mainly seemed to involve ignoring the one thing in his life that Dean was a part of.

Dean would never in a hundred years have thought he’d go for an omega. Hell, he’d pretty much written off mating with another were, period – he was getting a bit old for that circus. But when it came to Cas ...

He remembered Cas’s cold refusal to move to Dean’s side of the table, and grinned. _Good boy_.

“Dean.”

Dean started. Cas was in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. He looked exhausted. Dean shoved the files off his lap in a rush.

“Cas, you should have called me! I’m sorry , honey – I shouldn’t have left you this long.”

“Dean,” Cas began, and he looked like he could have said a thousand different things after that, like, “Why haven’t you finished those briefs, I brought them in for a reason,” or “Since when have you called me ‘honey,’” or “I am so fucking done with this fucking heat,” but all he managed was “Dean, I need ...” and Dean pulled him down.

Cas responded to the touch like his strings had been cut.

Dean settled Cas beneath him, cradling his back with one strong forearm. The couch was too small, but that didn’t matter.

It wasn’t until he was tugging Cas’s clothes off with familiar hands – why oh why had the clothes even _gone back on_ – soothing his touch-cravings as he did so, that he realized how fully his alpha had claimed him. He was covered in bruises and bites from collarbone to shins. But it was more than that – he wanted this omega, liked this omega in his home, wanted to be close to him. His skin smelled like spring water and new clean rain and dewy earth, and Dean wanted to bury in him and wash everything else away.

Dean touched him like he had the right to it – and Cas asked for more with every inch of his body, with every warm caress.

Dean propped his weight up on one elbow, and drew his other hand down along Cas’s stomach and hips to cup one lean ass cheek.

“How sore are you?” he murmured.

“Rather,” Cas admitted, as Dean brushed a finger against his wet opening. He looked red and a little raw. Dean pressed a knuckle in, cautiously, and Cas responded with a wince and a sigh. Dean placed a kiss on the centre of his chest as his fingers slid further in, stretching. Cas didn’t need it – he was still open and relaxed from this morning – but Dean wanted to test his sensitivity. Besides, he liked this part.

He liked the next part even better, though – the slow, careful way Cas’s face unwound as Dean took his dick in hand and pushed it firmly into his body, hilting right up to the knot.

A few authoritative thrusts, and Cas was spread open for the taking.

“Still slick,” groaned Dean, happily falling into their now-familiar rhythm.

“I haven’t stopped leaking all weekend,” Cas grumbled.

“My poor omega,” Dean said with a grin. Cas caught his expression, and something in his face twisted.

Dean stopped abruptly. “Cas, what is it?”

Cas shook his head and moved against Dean, trying to prompt him. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

Liar. Dean was having none of it. “Cas.”

“Dean ...” he sighed. He met Dean’s eyes, recognizing the Obey Me Alpha Voice. Cas took a deep breath, and then: “I’m sorry I’m such a miserable omega. You’ve been very patient with me.”

“Cas, don’t – ”

Cas cupped Dean’s cheek in his hand, and Dean fell silent. “Dean, please. You know you’ve been patient with me. You know I’m not what most alphas expect. I’m sorry I – ”

“There’s no script, Cas,” Dean interrupted, trying to head Cas off, but Cas shook his head impatiently.

“Isn’t there? I don’t like being obedient and I don’t like giving way. I don’t want to be a good little omega. But meeting you ... I want to obey you all the time and it costs me every time I do, and it costs me every time I don’t, and ... and I hate ...”

Cas pulled his eyes away as he trailed off.

Dean heard the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop to measure them. “Cas, I’m not ... I can’t order you not to be at war with yourself. But you’re not at war with me. I’m going to get you through this. You’ve been so good,” he said, lowering his voice. “You’re almost done. We’re almost there.”

Cas forced himself to make eye contact again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever realized just how dark those eyes were. Dean knew what that gesture was cost him. But Cas kept eye contact, and reached out to grip Dean’s bicep with surprising strength.

“Dean ... I want you to knot me.” His voice was quiet, but something fierce burned in those clear eyes.

“What? No. No, we can’t.” Dean blurted it out without thinking. ‘Do Not Knot The Omega’ had been the theme song of the weekend. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to – I crazy want to, it’s just –”

Cas interrupted him, guttural and fierce. “Dean, I can’t handle another day of this. I’m so tired. Get this fucking thing _out_ of me.”

Dean shook his head. “We can do it without knotting, it’ll be safer.” He paused, then said quietly: “You don’t owe me this.”

Cas’s hand tightened painfully on his arm, eyes still locked onto Dean’s. “Please, Dean – listen to me. I want to. I trust you.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. The determination in Cas’s voice had gone straight to his core – it brought Dean to heel like a dog that had heard its master’s call.

_Listen to me. I trust you._

Dean felt like he’d been pierced, somehow. For a moment he couldn’t speak. He could only look down at the man on his couch, in so many ways a stranger.

Cas trusted him? Then he trusted Cas to know what he wanted.

“Okay,” he growled, falling onto Cas’s mouth. “Okay.”

Cas kissed back hard, hungry, like he was trying to channel all his frustration and exhaustion into this moment.

Oh, God. They were really doing this.

“Easy,” he soothed, nipping Cas’s lip. His voice was calming, but he wasn’t going to temper this. Cas wasn’t fighting him, he was fighting _it_ , and Dean gave him back what he dealt – rough, hard, the only way Cas was going to make it through.

Dean began to move in him again, his passage eased by the natural lubrication of a desperately horny omega. Cas continued to grip his arms tightly, as though he was afraid Dean would change his mind, get up and run away.

_I’m not going anywhere._ He shifted so that he was cradling Cas with one arm, and the death-grip relaxed a little, but Cas’s lips were still feverish against his.

Dean moved in brutally slow strokes. He wanted to make sure Cas could feel every long inch of this, wanted to work him up properly. Cas tried to match Dean’s rhythm, but his hips gave an insolent buck every time Dean thrust forward.

“Faster, please – Dean, I need – ”

Dean growled low and deep in Cas’s ear. “If I’m going to fuck the heat out of you, I’m going to do it properly.”

Cas let out a noise like a sob, but he acquiesced. Even if his body was screaming and crying in need, he trusted Dean, and Dean moved deliberately, thrusting deep and slow. ~~~~

“Ah!” Cas gasped, as Dean gave the first perfectly-angled stroke against his prostate.

It didn’t take long to reduce Cas to the level of basic need, sweating and flushed, biting his bottom lip like a guilty schoolboy.

Cas was whimpering now, trying to keep control of a body that didn’t understand why it couldn’t have what it needed _right now_ , except his alpha had said to wait, and so he was waiting, waiting, because he was a good boy and good boys obeyed.

And good boys were rewarded.

“You ready, baby?” asked Dean, when it became clear that he wouldn’t last much longer: his knot was purpling, threatening to pop. Dean touched his knuckles to Cas’s cheek. Cas couldn’t make eye contact, but he leaned into the touch, desperate for comfort.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please.” ~~~~

Dean pumped slower now, searching for the final give. It was amazing how something not much smaller than a ripe peach could just slip in if you found the right angle, and –

Oh, fuck.

There it was – too quickly, Dean felt his knot take, felt the slight give of Cas’s hot, puckered flesh, and his hips did the rest. He thrust down and in and oh, God, yes, Cas’s body just sealed over the engorged knot like it belonged there.

Cas groaned and his fingers clutched at the fabric of the couch, because it was too much – of course it was too much – and Dean held him tight, a reminder that he had him, that it was going to be okay, hoping his body’s natural numbing agents would kick in soon.

The pressure of Cas’s body was intense: Dean felt the final rush of blood shoot into his knot as his flesh plumped up for the final time, trapping his dick and then – too soon, too soon, but it was heavenly – he was coming hot and thick inside his omega, and nothing else mattered because oh God he was knotted _he was knotted he was finally knotted inside Cas_.

His blood was pounding in his ears, Cas’s scent was spiking through his brain, and he had to grit his teeth against the almost overwhelming waves of pheromone feedback. His thighs trembled and he whimpered.

“Holy fuck,” he managed, at last.

Pulling their sweaty chests apart, Dean looked down at Cas.

The man was done, absolutely and completely. He’d thrown his head back, fighting through the sensation of too much flesh passing through his circumference, at the feeling of Dean’s dick locked inside, spasming and spurting. His eyes were open wide but they were glazed and unfocused, staring past Dean to see something he couldn’t.

Through the haze of his orgasm, Dean realized he’d fucked up – he’d wanted to get Cas to come before they knotted. With his knot pulsing hard and unyielding inside him, there was no way Dean had the manoeuvrability to hit his prostate now.

Dean had a second or two to feel disappointed about that before his swollen knot pulsed again, his balls contracted and he was shooting another load into Cas. He moaned aloud, taken by surprise, and this time Cas moaned with him, digging his fingers into Dean’s back, neck bared.

Dean buried his nose in Cas’s neck, drinking deep, letting his teeth run across that strong pulse, that perfect skin. For several long moments, all he knew was his face pressed warm into Cas’s shoulder and Cas’ hands in his hair and the blood pumping through his body to the steady whisper of _mine, mine, mine_.

It took Cas longer to fight his way back to Dean. His eyes still wandered, unseeing, even as his hands clutched at Dean feebly. He hardly seemed aware that he was hard, cock angry-red against his stomach, until Dean pulled Cas’s leg over his hip and moved them so that they were slotted side by side. This meant that Cas’s legs were jacked open at an awkward angle, but it also meant that Dean could finally slip his hand down and tuck his fingers around Cas’s petite cock.

Cas seemed surprised, like he always was when Dean wanted to touch his dick. A thin dribble of come leaked out from behind the knot; Dean slid his hand through it before dragging his thumb over the glazed head of Cas’s cock.

_That_ got his attention.

Dean worked him gently. Cas was breached; his body wasn’t desperate any more. It wasn’t making any more demands on them. This one was just for Cas.

Dean’s hand was generous and slow, and Cas came between their stomachs with a gentle sigh, mouth pressed to Dean’s temple. The pressure of Cas’s orgasm was the final straw. Dean felt his dick spasm one last time as he forced another gush of come into his omega. Weaker, but all the sweeter for it as the tension unwound from his body and his spine relaxed into jelly.

Breathing deep, Dean found himself wondering, not for the first time this weekend, if Cas was on birth control. He’d assumed he was, but he allowed himself the idle pleasure of hoping that one day he wouldn’t be, thinking of his seed thick and warm, sinking deep into Cas’s body and filling his belly up with pups.

Dean’s cock spurted happily at the thought, safely encased in Cas. He kept that thought firmly to himself.

Cas was shaking, too high to unwind right away. His heart hammered against Dean’s chest. Dean pulled him in closer, awkward angle be damned.

All the shifting had caused some of Dean’s come to slide out past his knot, and it gathered in the pool of their thighs, gooey and still warm. Everything was heavy and swollen and wet.

There was dampness along Cas’s cheekbones.

Dean held him and waited.

“Dean?” Cas said finally.

“Right here, Cas.”

“I’m so tired.”

“I know, honey, I know, but you did so good. Such a good omega. You can sleep now, Cas, you’re okay. We’re okay.”

The late afternoon sun was streaming in through the window. With his knot snug and tight inside his omega, Dean let Cas’s relief and exhaustion wash over him. Dean sighed, pressing light kisses into Cas’s hair, and together they drifted off.

 

 

**Monday**

 

“Dean.”

“Mmf.”

“Dean, wake up.”

“Mmf!”

Cruel and unyielding fingers poked him hard in the underarm, and Dean snapped to full consciousness. “Cas, what the hell? It’s six am!”

“Yeah, I have to drive back to my apartment before I go to work. I need to shower and change. I smell terrible.”

Dean was incredulous – not only because his omega smelled fresher than a glacier, but because it was six in the fucking morning. “You’re not serious. You’re not going into work today.”

“My heat’s over, I don’t have to obey your orders,” said Cas, sounding chipper as hell. It might have been annoying if Cas’s smug, beautiful face hadn’t then leaned down and kissed him, welcoming and wet.

Dean kissed back lazily, only to let out a groan when Cas pulled away.

“I don’t think you obeyed a single order of mine all weekend.”

“Whine, whine, whine.”

Oh God, he did smell amazing – he smelled like ...

Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and took a second look at Cas. He was flopped cross-legged on the bed, in a pair of Dean’s old sweats. He looked ... different. Hell, he looked amazing now that he wasn’t miserable with heat. Or maybe now that they were mated – temporarily, at least. Maybe it was both. Either way, he looked confident and bright and Dean liked it. But it was also six in the morning.

“You’re disgustingly perky.” ~~~~

“Yep. Come on, have sex with me.”

Dean sputtered. Not because he didn’t want to have sex with Cas, but because ... well, goddamn. “We had marathon sex all weekend!”

“Yes, but that was heat sex,” said Cas, rationally explaining. “I want to have normal, boring sex with you before I go to work. And I’ll make you coffee, so you can stop whining right now.”

“Oh, God. You’re a morning person. This is clearly never going to work.” Dean sighed theatrically. “Alright, come here,” he grumbled, rolling onto his side and reaching out with a lazy hand. “Have sex with me already.”

It turned out that sex with Cas while Dean was sleepy and pliant was wonderful. Despite his heat, Cas had been paying attention. He’d already discovered that spot on Dean’s back that made him melt, knew just how to press his fingers along his shoulder blades in that way Dean liked. And when Cas went down on him, he very slowly and luxuriously laved his tongue around Dean’s hole before licking his perineum in that way that Dean was pretty sure he’d never told another human being he liked.

It wasn’t, Dean admitted, the worst way to wake up.

“When was the last time you did this?” he asked afterwards. He stretched, relishing the memory of Cas’s pretty tongue just peeking inside him.

Cas frowned, like Dean was making a bad joke. “Do you not remember yesterday?”

“No, I mean sex outside of heat.”

“Oh.” Cas got a far-away look, like he was counting.

Dean groaned. “Oh, God, never mind – I don’t want to know, it will just depress me.”

Cas caught him in the face with a pillow.

 

 

“Have you thought about going off your suppressants?” asked Dean carefully, over coffee and pancakes. Dean had cooked this morning; he was privately pleased with himself for not burning the pancakes in front of Cas.

“I haven’t had much of a chance to think about anything,” Cas said, equally carefully.

“You look like you feel better without them.” Dancing on the edge now.

“It’s not really relevant. I need them to work, and I love my work. It’s either take suppressants, or get mated.” There was a sliver of a pause before he corrected, “Long-term, I mean. Those are the options.”

“Mm. Well, that’s good, because I need help getting the boat in the lake next weekend.”

Dean watched for a reaction, but Cas was stoic. He blew on his coffee and asked, mildly, “You want to see me next weekend?”

“I want to see you tonight, if your workaholic ass will let me.”

Cas smiled, disarmed. “I don’t know. You think this is going to affect our business relationship?”

Dean smiled back. “Crazy talk. That shit’s sacred. I mean, unless you’re going to start giving me a discount. I’d be down with that. Your fees are insane.”

“I believe I provided you with several billable hours free of charge this weekend.”

“So I can make you dinner tonight, to repay you?”

Cas shrugged. “Alright, then.” Dean wasn’t fooled by the studied casualness – Cas was very definitely Not Meeting Dean’s Eyes, and there was a poorly-suppressed smile on his mouth.

Dean grinned. “Good.”

And then they spent a long moment not looking at each other and trying to drink coffee that was still too hot.

Cas was the one who shook them out of their Communication for Dummies moment.

“I need to get going. Where’s my watch?” It turned out that Cas’s few things were strewn around, and it took some searching to find them, which meant that there was a lot of bending over things, and Cas was thoroughly tussled by the time he got to the door.

Getting past the door, too, was a bit of a challenge – Cas had nested pretty hard, which was a complication neither of them had considered, and they lost some time in the hallway, just breathing each other in. Cas hadn’t left the house in nearly sixty hours, and it took some real effort to get onto the porch.

“This is ridiculous!” said Cas, finally. “I’m leaving.”

“You going to make it?” asked Dean, rubbing his thumb over a particularly high bruise on Cas’s neck. “Or should I just call Raphael and tell him you can’t come in today, on account of my immense personal charm?”

“He’d either kill me or fire me, and I’m not sure which is worse,” he said, kissing Dean goodbye. “Okay, now I’m _really_ leaving. See you at ten.”

“Fine. Wait – what?”

Cas blinked, like Dean was the biggest idiot in the world. “We have a meeting with Sandover’s contractors. At ten.”

“ _What_?”

Cas pulled back and looked at him with a fond indulgence that was completely unacceptable in an omega.

“Oh my God, Dean, what were you ever going to do without me?”


End file.
